A new Champloo
by Demarkus
Summary: Rutaro is a traveling warrior, taught by samurai whom you will recognize and living his own life. this is his story. violence, some sexuality and language, criminal underworld stuff, as a warning otherwise, enjoy
1. Vengeance unknown

Rain lashed outside. The trees swayed with the wind, which howled through the boughs around the warrior. He held his sheathed katana close to him, staring out from beneath his hood. The countryside, bright and lush in the day, was dark and foreboding under the cloak of night and the tempests rage; his eyes pierced through the darkness, searching for what he knew was coming. He need only wait out the storm…

-An hour later-

Four men strode down the road, heading towards Tokyo. Katsua laughed and continued. "So I held the man down, in front of his wife, and cut off his fingers, right? She begged me to leave him be, that she'd do _anything_…and, well, you know." He grinned maliciously, his ugly scar contorting across his tanned face.

One of his companions, Muto, a burly type carrying a spear, scratched the stubble on his chin. "No, Katsua, what is it?"

The criminal glared at his sorely ignorant lackey and replied through gritted teeth, "Sex, you lack-wit. I fucked the shit out of the bitch, GET IT?!"

The two other men, twins with long ponytails, snickered as Katsua smacked Muto repeatedly; Foi and Kinn, they enjoyed watching the torments of others, and very much enjoyed causing much of the grief.

"Huh? DO YOU GET IT NOW, YOU DUMB BASTARD?!" Katsua roared with maniacal laughter as Muto rubbed at the bruises now on his face . His laughter was cut short as they passed into the shadow of a large _sakura_ tree…and a figure leapt down from the limbs.

Standing tall, the stranger pulled his hood off, revealing the face of a young man. He had a slim build, and wore a strange garb, it seemed; not a kimono, but a loose shirt with a grey jacket with a hood, and blue pants. In his hand was a blue-sheathed katana with a black and gold grip, which he handled with familiarity. His dark eyes honed in on the leader, the one with the scar…his target.

"What the hell? Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Yeah, what the fuck do you want, huh?"

The stranger tossed his bangs from his face and addressed the band with calm. "Not very polite, are you guys? I was just dropping in to say hello, and deliver a message to one Katsua Onishizuka. Is there anyone here who know where I can find him?"

The leader smirked and stepped forward. "Gaijin, if you have anything to say to me, say it before I get bored and kill you." He fingered the tip of the katana at his side as he spoke; the large brute behind him hefted a large spear as the twins both began to slide their weapons from their sheaths.

"I tend to get bored easily."

They advanced on the young man, clearly inexperienced and foolish, thinking he could merely approach a known and wanted man without more caution.

The stranger smiled cheerily and answered. "Very well. Go to hell, you ragtag piece of shit."

Katsua's rage was clear from the snarl on his face as he drew his sword. "Kill that bastard!" His three companions charged, yelling and whooping for the kill to come.

It was the last mistake they'd ever make, and it was over in seconds.

Foi and Kinn came at him from either side and both swung their blades; the stranger leapt high, avoiding them, and in one fluid movement drew his and slashed at Foi coming down. Crimson blood flashed in the air as he spun low and swung twice more, felling the other twin with a slash to the throat.

Muto jabbed at this newcomer with his spear; the answer was a sidestep and a ram in the gut with the blade's point. Muto couldn't gasp in pain before his arm was gone and he was stabbed a second time through the back. The brute fell with his death rattlem strangely loud in the morning air.

Needless to say, Katsua was scared shitless. The stranger advanced slowly, calmly, almost ignoring the blood dripping from his sword tip and staining the road. The bandit tried a frantic swing and missed; he swung again, and the stranger just weaved again. Frustrated, Katsua took his katana up with both hands and cried, "Die, damn you!" and swung down. His weapon met the horizontal block of the stranger's, who replied, inches from his face:

"You first."

A backslash...gushing blood...screaming pain from his chest...Katsua spun in slow motion, landing heavily on his knees, coughing up blood and grasping nobelieving at the slash in his chest, his kimono staining rapidly from his own blood. He breathed heavily, clawing at the last dregs of life that were slowly seeping away as the world faded from view. The warrior knelt before the dying bandit and spoke, his dark eyes boring holes into Katsua's soul.

"Rutaro Mattan. Remember my name, so the devil will know who sent you."

And with a flick of the katana, Katsua's head was sent flying, his body dropping forward onto the ground.

In the distance, a flock of crows took flight in the distance, filling the air with their melancholy cries.


	2. Memories past

It was a long walk back to the small town of Ibishe. Carrying the sword of the now deceased Katsua as proof of killing him, Rutaro breathed in a deep sigh; years ago, when he was still considered a boy, he would never have dreamed of actually being a ronin and having to kill someone. Sure, he idolized samurai, along with many of the other boys in his village, and practiced swordplay himself.

It was on a fateful day, years ago, that his future was revealed to him.

_Six years ago…_

The young Rutaro stood, wooded katana in hand, a grin on his face. His opponent, Kitabi Turo, was a heavy-set boy, entered the established dueling ground in the center of Fushi village. A crowd followed of assorted people, both old and young, including the village protectors; the samurai always enjoyed watching a rising talent, and Rutaro was such.

"Ready to lose your title, Mattan?" Turo lazily spun his sword in a circle; Rutaro disregarded the comment, thinking to himself and keeping his trademark calm before fighting.

_He may be lax now, but Turo actually possesses some skill. I'll have to be careful…_

Then Rutaro spotted her, a girl who gave him chills, and not the bad kind.

Mitimona Hikara wore her hair down and long, regardless of what her peers told her. Her olive green eyes were uncommon, yet hauntingly beautiful at the same time. Her kimono was a soft blue, and she always wore a trademark necklace of sakura blossoms. And her smile…Rutaro shivered, afflicted by affection.

As if she could sense his gaze, Hikara looked up at Rutaro and they locked eyes. She automatically smiled -her angelic smile- and waved at him. He blushed and grinned in reply.

A boy with a long ponytail strode up and addressed the crowd. "Gather round, gather round! Another duel today, announced by yours truly, Ebotan!" He received acclaim from several girls on the sidelines, to which he bowed theatrically. Rutaro smiled at his friend's antics.

"Thank you, thank you! But I'm not the main attraction here; performing again his exceptional skill is Rutaro Mattan!"

Much of the gathered crowd erupted in cheers; to Rutaro's delight, Hikara was one of them, smiling and cheering with enthusiasm. He bowed humbly and the cheers escalated.

Ebo waved people down until it was quiet again. "Okay…rambunctious bunch of people…the challenger is Kitabi Turo! Give it up!" A smaller but considerable rougher crowd shouted and cheered as Turo walked up, pumping his fist in the air and laughing. Several of Rutaro's fans shook their heads and scowled; Mattan himself just smirked.

After the noise died down, Ebo ran to the center of the sparring circle in the clearing; raising both of his hands, he addressed the two fighters as they walked up. "'Before you two start, is there anything you have to say to each other?"

Turo eyed Rutaro for a moment, spat and said derisively, "I haven't anything to say to this fool who thinks he can wield a sword. This won't take long." He raised his katana and pointed a hand at his opponent, his signature stance.

Rutaro shifted his feet and held his katana, angled, at his side. He leaned slightly to one side, flicked his eyes towards Hikara for a second, then back to Turo.

"That's true, Turo. I'll beat you with fewer moves than you can count on one hand."

Even as the heavy-set fighter simmered at Rutaro's remark, Ebo raised his hands high, and brought them down to the ground. "FIGHT BEGIN!" Both boys rushed forward, eyes trained on each other.

Noticed by no one, a man with a ponytail and glasses watched from the sidelines, amongst the others in the crowd.

Rutaro leapt high as Turo swept low with his sword. Landing, he met his opponent with swift blocks, their wooded swords clacking loudly as they crossed thrice, left, high, and right. Sidestepping a jab, Turo flipped his blade around and made a kill swing at Rutaro's head, causing the crowd to gasp.

Rutaro wasn't there.

With a series of whack, thwam and smack, Turo was beat off his feet and to the ground, groaning at the pain from his wrist, chest, and head. Rutaro stood over him, panting lightly and aiming the tip of his weapon at his defeated opponent. With a broad grin Rutaro spoke.

"I win."

The crowd erupted in applause and screams of amazement. The young of the village rushed Mattan, clapping him on the back and raising his hand in victory. Turo pushed off the ground and limped away, nursing his broken pride. A handful of his faithful followers trailed dejectedly after him.

Ebo fought his way in through the milling children, teens and adults to his friend's side as Rutaro was raised on shoulders in victory. "Ladies and gentlemen! RUTARO MATTAN! Their cries echoed across the rolling hills and through the valley…

Later that night, Rutaro was sitting atop a house drinking a cup of sake, finally alone and away from the insanity. Sighing in contentment, he leaned back and stared at the night sky, feeling somewhat accomplished at giving Turo a lesson in humility.

"Excuse me…Rutaro Mattan?"

Sitting up at hearing his name called, the young swordsman looked down to see and unfamiliar face. The man was clad in a blue kimono with black pants, and seemed to be wearing specs of some sort. Always cordial when he could be, Rutaro leapt down from his spot and walked up. "Yes. May I help you, sir?"

"I witnessed your fight today, and I must say you are fairly skilled for someone your age."

Rutaro smiled. "Yeah, I hear that a lot. Thanks, Mr.-"

"Jinn. You can call me Jinn."

The boy nodded and bowed in respect. As he did, he froze; there at the blue clad man's waist was a katana and a wakizashi. The real deal.

_Jinn…he's a samurai!_ I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't know, it's-"

"Alright," Jinn cut in with a chuckle. "I merely wished to give you my compliment, and learn if I could where you learned from."

Head still spinning at the prospect of a samurai, who radiated skill, wishing to talk to a juvenile like himself, Rutaro leaned against a wall. "Uh, sure. Well, I mostly just pretended when I was younger, whenever I heard stories. Then when I got older I watched the village protectors as they practiced."

Jinn smiled and leaned against the wall beside him. "Well, for not having had a master or attended a dojo, your skill is exceptional. You remind me of me when I was younger, albeit a little less reserved."

"How so?"

"Well, you spun low to avoid the decapitation move your opponent used against you and struck from behind. And your blade angle could be a little better when striking; it makes for a better blow. Your footwork needs fine tuning as well…" Jinn trailed off and got a look in his eyes, as if recalling a memory not to long in the past, and smiled knowingly.

Rutaro's heart beat faster, though he couldn't quite place the reason. "Wow…you must be a master swordsman to be able to spot all those moves I did…yours must be tons better!"

Jinn nodded. "Yes, that's part of why I'm here. You see…I had a master once, who taught me to be the best swordsman I could be. And I once traveled with a ronin who…well, his methods were unconventional but he was a match for me whenever we crossed blades. Ever since then I've thought of what I would do other than just wandering…I didn't want to settle down as a true samurai for a lord, or teach a bunch of inexperienced men the right way to hold a sword. But you…"

Rutaro could hardly hear for his heart hammering in his head, could scarcely believe that he spoke to not just a samurai, but a ronin…free to roam, living how they wanted to…that he was interested in him, a small town boy living in the shadow of the village protectors…

"…I think I'd like to take you on as my pupil, teach you what I know."

Chills went down Rutaro's spine; he felt elated. He was actually going to learn from a master swordsman…see the world, meet new people, become a ronin. It was all going to happen.

Jinn saw the look on the boy's face and adopted a serious tone. "I must warn you though; the training to acquire these skills will be arduous. But I have faith in you, Rutaro. Just trust me, and trust in your skill as a fighter…and you will become the best you can be."


	3. Just Another Job

"Sake, Rutaro-san?"

"Just water is fine, Kitori."

The ronin now sat in a tavern in Ibishi, quietly spending his time while waiting for his contact to show up. Katsua's sword was wrapped in cloth and it stood next to him as he sat at his seat, sipping at the cup of water the waitress gave him. The other patrons eyed him warily; few samurai roamed these parts, and ronin were only a thing of myth to most. These thoughts, unchecked, could spill into actions of folly.

A shadow crossed over Rutaro's eating space; he paused with rice halfway to his mouth and relaxed. His hand had subconsciously drifted to his side where his katana was secured, but now he merely placed it on the table and stood, inclining his head. "Kubarai Rishoni."

The older man whom Rutaro addressed nodded in assent and sat before the ronin. Kubarai Rishoni was aged around his late forties, with dark hair and grey streaks. A scar over his left eye gave him a menacing appearance, but only when he was truly angry. He was well built and wore a katana and wakizashi at his waist. Three guards stood by him, sheathed katana in their hands.

"So it's done?"

Rutaro nodded, sipping at his water nonchalantly.

"Delivered the message. He didn't take it well."

"Really?"

"Nope. They got pissed and rushed me."

"There were four of them right? Twins and a big guy?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"You cut them all down?"

"Saved Katsua for last; took about ten seconds."

Rutaro looked up bemusedly at Rishoni's guards, who looked dumbfounded. "Katsua was the best swordsman west of here. How'd you-"

"Fear."

The others went silent as the ronin stood and finished his water. He took up his bowl of rice and began eating the last bit, leaning against the wall. He spoke between bites.

"The strongest fighter in the world can die in seconds if he can't move or think straight for want of courage." He looked up at Rishoni with flint in his eyes. "Poor bastard was scared shitless before I killed him."

Rutaro put down his bowl and some money on the table. He then took the wrapped katana and tossed it to Rishoni, who caught it. "Katsua's sword. Do whatever with it; cutthroat bandit's swords mean nothing to me."

The ronin walked out of the café, a grin on his face, for he knew that looks of bewilderment and admiration were on their faces as he left.

"Wait!"

Rutaro stopped in the middle of the street in front of the café and looked back. One of the guards, a man with a dark green kimono, stood in front of the shop with a big grin on his face. The ronin raised an eyebrow. "What is it that you want?"

The man walked forward and bowed. "I am Toni Omura, guard of Kubarai Rishoni."

Rutaro smirked. "Yes, I saw you in there, standing with your katana in hand. I believe you had your jaw dropped to the floor?"

Chuckling nervously, Omura laughed and rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "Yes, well, that's because you are without doubt one of the most talented swordsmen ever. Who taught you?"

At this Rutaro was silent a moment. He could not help but flash back in his mind's eye-looking to the sky, closing his eyes, and falling away from the world-and recall his training under Jinn-san, the fluid movements, the precise cuts, his ruthlessness in battle. Jinn moved with the wind often it seemed, as potent as any typhoon…

"Ronin?"

Rutaro opened his eyes and looked back at Omura, who stood waiting. A grin passed onto Rutaro face as he replied, "I was taught by a man named Jinn. But the technique I used to eliminate Katsua and his gang was that of a Ryokan."

"A Ryokan…" the guard repeated the name, trying to remember where he'd heard that before…

"He was unrefined, a vagrant mercenary…wild black hair and the look of a slacker."

"Maybe…"

"He wore his sword across his back, red shirt and shorts…and steel-lined shoes."

"Ah! You speak of Mugen!" The ronin smiled and inclined his head before turning and starting down the street.

Omura frowned. "However did you learn his technique?" Rutaro laughed and replied without turning.

"My then master, Jinn…as one of my tasks, I had to hunt down the Ryokan and fight him and live. I'm still here."


End file.
